Percival looked, looked again, shaded his eyes and looked: "Why, it's Horace!" he exclaimed.

Lottie made no reply, but she awoke from her sullen musing, a light flashed into her eyes, and she quickened her pace towards the man who should deliver her from her tête-à-tête with Percival.

CHAPTER V.

WHY NOT LOTTIE?

PERCIVAL advanced to meet his cousin. "You here, Horace?" he said. "So it seems," the other replied, in a voice which sounded exactly as if Percival had answered his own question.

The two young men were wonderfully alike, though hardly one person in a hundred could see it. They were exactly the same height, their features were similar, they walked across the room in precisely the same way, and unconsciously reproduced each other's tricks of manner with singular fidelity. Yet any remark on this resemblance would almost certainly encounter a wondering stare, and "Oh, do you think so? Well, I must confess I can't see much likeness myself;" the fact being that the similarity was in form and gait, while both colour and expression differed greatly. Horace's hair had the same strong waves as Percival's, but it was chestnut brown, his eyes were a clear light grey, his complexion showed a fatal delicacy of white and red. His expression was more varying, his smile was readier, and his glance more restless.

He had once taken a college friend, whose hobby was photography, to Brackenhill. Young Felton arrived with all his apparatus, and photographed the whole household with such inordinate demands on their time, and such atrocious results, that everyone fled from him in horror. Horace was the most patient of his victims, and Felton declared that he would have a good one of Thorne. But even Horace was tired out at last, and said, very mildly, that he didn't particularly care for the smell of the stuff, and he was afraid his portraits wouldn't help him to a situation if ever he wanted one-apply, stating terms and enclosing carte. That he thought it uncommonly kind of Felton to take so much trouble, but if ever he let him try again, he'd be- Sissy was there, and the sentence which had been said over his shoulder, as he leaned out of the window, ended in a puff of smoke up into the blue. Felton begged for one more, and persuaded Sissy to be his advocate. "I've an idea that something will come of it," said the hapless photographer. Horace yielded at last, and sat down, grimly resolute that he would yield no more. Something did come of it. Felton got it very much too dark, and the result was a tolerable photograph and a startling likeness of Percival.

The incident caused some little amusement at Brackenhill, and visitors

were duly puzzled with the portrait. But it was not long remembered, and people dropped into their former habit of thinking that there was but a slight resemblance between the cousins. Only Percival carried off the photograph, and was interested for a week or two in questions of doubtful identity, looking up a few old cases of mysterious claimants, and speculating as to the value of the testimony for and against them.

Horace shook hands with Lottie, and uttered his neatly-worded birthday wishes. Her answer was indistinctly murmured, but she looked up at him, and he paused, struck as by something novel and splendid, when he encountered the dark fire of her eyes. "I left them wondering what had become of you," he said. "They thought you were wandering about alone somewhere, and had lost yourself."

"Instead of which we met on the road, didn't we?" said Percival. "Yes," she answered, indifferently. "And you came to look for me?"

"Of course. I was on my way to hunt up the town crier, and to make our loss known to the police. In half an hour's time we should have been dragging all the ponds."

"I think I'd better go and set mamma's anxious mind at rest," said Lottie, with a short laugh, "Good-bye for the present." She was gone in a moment, leaving the young men standing in the middle of the road. Horace made a movement as if to follow her, then checked himself, and looked at his cousin.

"So you have come down for the

Percival made haste to speak. birthday party, too? Where are you staying?"

"Oh, the Blakes find me a bed. I'm off again to-morrow morning." "You are now at Scarborough with my aunt. I have it on Sissy's authority."

"There's no occasion to disturb that faith," said Horace, lightly. "Are you going into the town? I'll walk a little way with you."

"You are not going to see them at Brackenhill before you leave?” Horace shook his head. "Say nothing about me. Did you tell them where you were going?"

"No. I don't suppose they know of the Blakes' existence." "So much the better. I'm not going to enlighten them."

They strolled on side by side, and for a minute neither spoke. Horace was chafing because it had occurred to him that afternoon that Mrs. Blake seemed rather to take his devotion to Addie for granted. His path was made too smooth and obvious, and it was evident that the prize might be had for the asking. Consequently, Master Horace, who was not at all sure that he wanted it, was irritable and inclined to swerve aside.

"Are not you playing a dangerous game?" said Percival.

"Sooner

or later someone will mention the fact of these visits to the squire, and there'll be a row."

"Well, then, there must be a row. It's uncommonly hard if I'm

never to speak to anyone without going to Brackenhill first to ask leave," said Horace, discontentedly. "How should you like it yourself?” "Not at all."

"No more do I. I'm tired of being in leading-strings, and the long and short of it is that I mean to have my own way in this, at any rate." "In this? Is this a matter of great importance, then? Horace, mind what you are after with the Blakes."

"You're a nice consistent sort of fellow," said Horace.

"Oh, you may call me what you like," Percival replied.

"Who introduced me to these people before they came to Fordborough? Who comes down to Brackenhill-the dullest hole now there's no shooting-because it's Lottie Blake's birthday? Whose name is a sort of household word here-Percival this, and Percival that?-Percival without any Thorne to it, mind."

"I plead guilty. What then?"

"What then? Why, I wish you to remark that this is your example, while your precept is

"Take care what you are about with the Blakes. Yes, old fellow, you'd better leave my example alone, and stick to the precept. My wisdom takes that form, I admit." He spoke with more meaning than Horace perceived.

"Well, thanks for your advice," said the young man, with a laugh. "Though I can't see any particular harm in my coming down to-day." "No harm. Only remember that there is such a place as Brackenhill."

"The governor oughtn't to find fault with me since you're in the same boat. He never thinks you can do wrong."

"Never."

"You're a lucky fellow, to have only yourself to please." "Very lucky," said Percival, drily.

with me?"

"Change places? What do you mean?"

"Will you change places

The other looked fixedly at him, and said in a pointed manner, “I fancy it might easily be managed with Addie Blake's help."

The suggestion was unpleasant. Horace winced, and vented his displeasure in a random attack. "And why Addie, I should like to know? How can you tell it is Addie at all?"

"Who then?"

Why not Lottie?" The words were uttered without a moment's thought, and might have been forgotten as soon as said. But Percival was taken by surprise, and a look of utter incredulity flashed across his face. Horace caught it and was piqued.

"Unless you understand her so well that you are sure that no one else has a chance. Of course, if that is the case

"Not at all!" Percival exclaimed. "It's not for me to pretend to understand Lottie I'm not such a fool as that!"

"All the same," Horace said to himself, "you think you understand her better than I do, and you don't believe I should have a chance if I tried to cut you out. Well, Mr. Percy, you may be right; but, on the other hand, you may be mistaken." And, as he walked back to the Blakes, Horace hurriedly resolved to teach his cousin that he was not to consider Lottie his exclusive property. He knew the folly of such a proceeding, but who was ever hindered from obeying the dictates of wounded vanity by the certainty that he had much better not?

Percival sincerely wished the evening over. He dared not stay away, lest his absence should provoke comments, but he feared some childish outbreak of petulance on Lottie's part. When he saw her he was startled by her beauty. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were full of brilliant meaning. She cast a defiant glance at him as she went by. She was burning with shame, and maddened by the cruel injustice of her fate. A white light seemed to have poured in upon her, and she found it incredible that she could ever have felt, or acted, as she had felt and acted that afternoon. She said to herself that she might as well have been punished for her conduct in a dream.

Percival plucked up courage enough to go and ask her to dance. He was distressed and pitiful, and longing to make amends, and stood before her like the humblest of suitors. She assented coolly enough. No one saw that there was anything amiss, though he was quick to remark that she gave him only square dances. No more waltzes with Lottie for him. But Horace had one, and, when it was over, he leaned almost exhausted against the wall, while Lottie stood by his side and fanned herself. The fan seemed to throb in unison with her strong pulses, quickened by the dance, and slackening as she rested.

"That was splendid," said Horace, with breathless brevity. "Best waltz I ever had."

"Ah?" said Lottie, turning towards him. Suppose Addie heard that, Mr. Thorne ?"

They looked straight into each other's eyes, and Horace felt a strange thrill run through him. He evaded her question with a laugh. Why do you call me Mr. Thorne?" he asked. "If you call that fellow by his Christian name, why not me? Mine isn't such a mouthful as Percival-try it."

"We knew him first, you see," Lottie replied, with much innocence. "As if that had anything to do with it! If you had known my grandfather first, I suppose you would have called him Godfrey ?"

"Perhaps he wouldn't have asked me," said Lottie.

Horace smiled. "Well, perhaps he wouldn't. He isn't much given to making such requests, certainly. But I do ask you. Look!" he exclaimed, with sudden animation, "there's Mrs. Blake taking that driedup little woman-what's her name ?-to the piano. I may have the next dance, I hope?"

"How many more things are you going to ask for all at once?" The

bright fan kept up its regular come and go, and Lottie's eyes were very arch above it. "I'm sure you don't take after your grandfather."

But

"Believe me," said Horace, "you would be awfully bored if I did.
you haven't given me an answer.
This dance?"

"I've promised it to Mr. Hardwicke. Adieu, Horace!" And before he could utter a syllable she was across the room, standing by the little spinster who was going to play, and helping her to undo a clashing bracelet of malachite and silver, which hung on her bony wrist. Horace, gazing after her, felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked round.

"I'm off when this dance is over," said Percival, who seemed weary and depressed. "You still wish me not to say that I have seen you?" Horace nodded. "I shall be at Scarborough again to-morrow night. There's no occasion to say anything."

"All right. You know best."

"Who can tell what may happen?" said Horace. "Why should one be in a hurry to do anything unpleasant? Put it off, and you may escape it altogether. For instance, the governor may change all at once, as people do in tracts and Christmas books. I don't say it's likely, but I feel that I ought to give him the chance."

"Very good," said Percival, and he strolled away. Horace noted his preoccupied look with a half-smile, but after a moment his thoughts and eyes went back to Lottie Blake, and he forgot all about his cousin and Brackenhill.

CHAPTER VI.

HER NA M E.

MOST country towns have some great event which marks the year, or some peculiarity which distinguishes them from their neighbours. This one has its annual ball, that its races, another its volunteer reviews. One seems to relish no amusement which has not a semi-religious flavour, and excels in school feasts, choir festivals, and bazaars. Some places only wake up on the fifth of November, and some are devoted to amateur theatricals. Fordborough had its agricultural show.

Crowds flocked to it, not because they cared for fat cattle, steam ploughs, and big vegetables, but because everybody was to be seen there. You stared at the prize pig side by side with the head of one of the great county families, who had a faint idea that he had been introduced to you somewhere (was it at the last election ?), and politely entered into conversation with you on the chance. You might perhaps suspect that his remembrance of you was not very clear, when you reflected afterwards that he

asked after my wife, who is dead, And my children who never were born;

but at any rate he meant to be civil, and people who saw you talking together would not know what he said, Or you might find the old friend